Let Me In

Part 4

Marc stared at the wrinkled sheet for several minutes. He kept tossing the message over and over again in his mind, as if it somehow had a hidden meaning he'd be able to decipher simply by staring at it.

"Well, that's not very nice."

The comment snapped any concentration Marc had in an instant. His eyes snapped up to the face in the mirror. "Huh?"
"The note, a little rude if you ask me. Especially when you compare it to how friendly I had been." Steven shrugged.

He rolled his eyes, "I mean, if I had to wake up just to puke because of something someone else had done, I would be in a bad mood too. Come to think of it, I can't think of a single time I've woken up to vomit within the past month-"

"Oh great." The brit huffed. "We're the point where we have personalities exclusively for bender regurgitations. Wonderful, this JI."

Marc tossed the paper back on the table with a quiet yawn. For as earth shattering as all the realizations had been over the past couple days, he struggled to think past what his blistering migraine would allow. He dragged himself over to the coffee pot, as if caffeine could possibly help. "Was it an I, or a lowercase L?"

"I don't know, I can't read drunk. I mean J was capitalized, so I would think the other would be too? I dunno, you're the one with the edgy history. Does a J name ring a bell?"

Marc scoured the surface of his brain for any immediate memories that could point in the right direction. He knew a Jackson at some point, though that was a real person. His first pet had been a dog name Jax- which, again, hardly seemed relevant. None of the J names he'd known had the same connection Steven Grant had. If he'd really wanted to, he could easily sit down and spend the whole afternoon uncovering childhood trauma in hopes of finding an explanation, but quite honestly, he would rather do anything else. He leaned forward on the counter. "I, L, whatever the name is, the point is he's finally making himself known. The main question is, why the hell isn't he actually talking? Ya know, like this?"

Steven hummed. "Well, I have no idea. We don't have work today though, right? Perhaps we can swing by the pub and ask Maria what she saw us doing while you were 'supposedly working'?"

"That's a good idea." Marc agreed, to which he could hear a prideful hum in response. The cocky bastard.

~★✡★~

The bar didn't open till 3, so the next few hours would be spent mostly lounging around the flat. He had no doubt if Steven had been in control, the brit would have jogged through half of London Streets in the time he spent restless on the couch. It was his time, however, and though his gut told him to be productive, he simply couldn't think of anything to do. Not when their only lead wasn't open yet, and he didn't have an ancient Egyptian god there to direct his every move.

When 3 o'clock came Marc was the first person through the door, much to the dismay of his far more empathetic alter.

"Right at opening? That's kind of scummy."

"What, we aren't in the way of other customers."

"I mean, still-"

Marc pushed his way through the front door without hesitation. It was almost amusing watching all the various emotions run over his co-worker's face. Annoyance at a guest already, relief when it was only him, anxiety upon remembering what had happened the night prior- her body stiffened. "Oh, hi there, Steve...?"

"Marc." He said curtly. "I just wanted to ask about what happened yesterday, and the day before."

"So, it wasn't you, huh?" The lady hummed. "I had a feeling when you came in Monday, but you kept responding to Marc, and you weren't British, so I just assumed."
"Yeah, no. We're still trying to piece together what exactly happened. So if you could fill us in..."